


Wayfarer (work title subject to change)

by andthekitchensink



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Space, Existential Angst, Happy Ending, Other, Psychological Horror, Sci-Fi Romance, Sci-fi tropes galore
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-10
Updated: 2019-11-10
Packaged: 2021-01-27 01:57:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,635
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21384211
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/andthekitchensink/pseuds/andthekitchensink
Summary: Some hundred years into the future, project ERA is launched as an international venture. While it is not the first attempt to colonize a new planet, it is the boldest venture yet: those who embark on this voyage will be in cryogenic sleep for six hundred years and wake up to a brand new world, with no chance of ever returning to their lives on Earth as they know it. One of the brave, or perhaps crazy, travellers is Hank Anderson, formerly a Lieutenant with the Detroit Police. He’s the first in line, having dreamed of going on just such a voyage for all his life. He may be a civilian, but he goes through the election process with ease, and is cleared for duty.When he awakes some two hundred years ahead of schedule, it is clear something has gone very, very wrong along the way - and it is up to him to figure it out. Or die, alone on the ship.But, of course he isn't actually alone on the ship...
Relationships: Hank Anderson/Connor
Comments: 6
Kudos: 17





	Wayfarer (work title subject to change)

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, so this started as a Space Travel thread for fun’s sake, but quickly turned into me attempting a complete rehaul of The Passengers, that sci-fi romance that was actually one of the creepiest movies I’ve ever seen. But that’s just my opinion. ;)
> 
> This? Is my humble attempt at fixing it, ‘cuz it’s so obviously broken. If you’re of a different opinion, find something else to read.
> 
> Fair warning, though, this won't just be a sci-fi romance! There'll be plenty of trouble along the way, and might even be some scary/creepy/horror parts! It's how I roll with my sci-fi tropes. <3
> 
> But, as always, I promise there'll be a happy ending, and only baddies will die! XD

* * *

'Space: the final frontier'. It was a line taken straight out of the fairy dusted childhood memories of one Lieutenant Hank Anderson. The lure of space was by far enough for him to be first in line for the ERA project - space exploration and settlement of a whole new world. It was the stuff of dreams. It was everything he’d worked for, trained for, all his life, and he didn’t even realize before it was too late. The ERA project itself had been a rumor for so long that by the time it  _ was _ finally a fact, people couldn’t believe it. Neither could Hank, even if he had dreamed of space since he watched Star Trek for the very first time, some six hundred and forty-odd years ago.

And now, here he was, hurtling across space faster than the human mind could truly comprehend, headed for a brand new life with brand new possibilities. It was the opportunity of a lifetime. Or it would have been, if not for the fact that he never made it that far. Nov 5, 2438, at what he assumed was the welcome end of a long journey through space and time Lieutenant Anderson found himself awake in his cryopod, blinded by the white light of the holo console suddenly going online.

All the numbers came up red. Literally all the damn numbers. The after effects of coming out of hibernation were known to be a bitch, but since he'd long since become one he gave it the bird and tapped the comm unit implanted into his temple. 

"Chl0e? You up and running?" 

The AI responded without hesitation, pleasant as ever. "Yes, Hank."

"Guess what my first query's gonna be," he said; Chl0e smiled over their link. He could hear it in her voice. 

"As Chief of Security, you want a status report." 

Hank smirked, and tried to relax through the automatic checkup. Just a few more seconds, and he'd be out of the pod. It didn't take Hank long to realize why the ship's AI seemed so chipper, even for her. The news was grim. Worse, it was dire. Something (Chl0e was unsure what, exactly - which in itself was alarming) had pierced the hull, prompting his premature wakeup call.

"...do I look like tech support?" Hank's self-proclaimed aversion to technology was a long standing in-joke between him and his fellow Millennial friends, but he wasn't any kind of engineer. He was a tinkerer, at best, not MacGyver. Which begged the question: why wake up the Chief of Security? The nano shield seemed to evaporate off of his pod, and he sat himself up, rubbing his face to ward off lingering lethargy. The answer to his unspoken question presented itself then, prompt, and unwanted.

His pod was the only one online in a sea of nothing, the entire cryo bay blanketed by darkness. High above were the others, thousands upon thousands of people hanging in their own pods in suspended, cryostatic animation. Outside, where there should be nothing but space were massive tendrils of...something. Growing.

Even Chl0e quieted down as he pushed himself out of the pod, stumbling towards the enormous porthole. "What is that thing?" He asked, dazed and unsteady still from the long journey. Whatever it was, it reminded him of his grandma's backyard: the old oak, and its gnarly roots.

In the back of his mind, he could almost feel Chl0e squirm. She was a wonder of technological innovation: an artificial intelligence symbiotically linked to every human being onboard. She would grow with them, learn with them, act as historical archive for future generations.

That she (the most advanced AI known to humanity) hesitated to speak could only mean one of two things:

  1. She knew, but didn't want to tell him, because it was Bad News(tm). Or, 
  2. (perhaps even more disturbing, but understandable) she simply didn't know.

"It's unlike anything I've ever seen," she told him, in possibly the quietest voice he'd ever heard. 

"That's okay, kid," said Hank. "That's...exactly how I'd describe it." He breathed deep. It was time to get dressed and get to work.

Chl0e directed him to his quarters, corridors lighting up as he went. Once there, he enjoyed a quick decontamination (hot showers being a luxury and a privilege, something saved for his day off, not indulged in during an emergency) - for a given value of 'enjoy'.

He changed into his uniform, brushed his hair into a semblance of neatness, and stepped into his private office. The room lit up, and even though Hank knew what to expect, he nearly jumped out of his skin at the sheer sight of it. His second-in-command. Connor - the RK800 model android provided by CyberLife, Project ERA's biggest sponsor. Hank had nothing against artificial life as such, but there was something about the CyberLife androids that spooked the shit out of him. How they were created. Too friendly, too subservient, too...smiley.

Well. He might as well make good use of this...human shaped supercomputer. He stepped up to the android, giving him a look over. Dressed in a security officer's uniform, he looked like something right out of the sci-fi shows Hank loved as a kid.  There were faint seams and joints where his face panels met, covered by a sheer film of synthetic skin that protected him from all manner of possible damage. But it didn't hide the pearlescent marble of his casing, or the tiny circle of light at his temple.  He had no hair, barely any eyebrows, but his synthskin, barely there though it was, was dotted with beauty marks. His lashes were dark. Odd choice, he thought, but didn't realize how wrong he was until the RK800 opened his eyes.

They were the most beautiful eyes he'd ever seen.

Hank was about to learn that the RK800 was made of different, sterner stuff than its predecessors. Connor wasn’t smiley at all. On the contrary, he gave Hank a look as if he’d broken one of the cardinal rules of social interaction.

“Rise and shine, son, we got work to do,” Hank said, brooking no argument - but Connor wasn’t playing along, the way he was supposed to.

Connor blinked his (ridiculously pretty) lashes (in Hank’s badly timed opinion), and tilted his head slightly off kilter. “I am not supposed to come out of standby for another one-hundred-and-fifty-two years, Lieutenant. The situation must be dire.”

Hank grinned, but it had very little to do with amusement. “Got it in one. We have a hull breach in sectors rA 1-9, and not a clue what caused it. Similar events cropping up all over the ship.”

A human second-in-command might take the opportunity to ask about external sensors, but Connor’s eyes merely seemed to glaze over sideways, like little silvery curtains drawn right across his eyeballs. There in a flash, and gone just as quickly. “Organic composition: carbon based lifeform of unknown origin. No available reference material on file.”

“You mean it’s like nothing you’ve ever seen before?”

Hank said it like it was a joke, and in a way it was, but once again, the android wasn’t playing. “ _ Everything _ is like nothing I’ve ever seen before, Lieutenant. I just woke up: it is irrelevant.”

“Right, right. Well…” Hank crossed his arms over his chest, feeling a sudden chill gripping his bones as he looked outside. Wall-to-ceiling windows looking out on the vastness of space around them was a nice concept on the drawing board, but perhaps not when it was almost entirely blocked out by writhing tendrils of...something wiry and alien that seemed determined to *get in*.

“Well, what?”

“Huh?”

The RK800 came up to stand beside him, hands clasped behind its back, observing the organic lifeform of unknown origin. Once again he tilted his head. This time, the look came equipped with an additional smirk, and one delicately arched eyebrow.

Hank cleared his throat. “Oh. Right. I was going to say ‘seems like we’re up the same ol’ creek without a paddle’...”

***

The plan seemed simple enough, once drafted: Connor looked through the logs of the ship, scanning for anything out of the ordinary while Chl0e made double sure the ship was fully operational (aside from the fact they were effectively stranded by whatever that thing was).

Hank felt curiously obsolete, caught between the most powerful AI ever created, and its android equivalent. As per her build, Chl0e could juggle myriads of hypothetical scenarios in real time, at a thousand blips-or-whatsits per minute. Connor was one step ahead. He could calculate the future. Whatever that meant, Hank wasn't entirely sure he wanted to know. However, he had a job description that he was gonna do his goddamn best to match. He was to investigate what the Hell had happened, what that thing was, and get the ship back on its merry way to their new home.

Chl0e's report was marginally improved from her first go: Life support was 100% across the ship, barring Research and Acquisitions, sections 1-through-9. He'd need to request safety gear from the Personnel dispensory before attempting entry. As for sections 1-9, she had no idea. It was as though they'd disappeared, clear off the blueprints of the ship. Connor concurred, guesstimating the data had been corrupted from the event. His sitrep went along the same lines as before: smooth sailing, until tiny little anomalies started occurring. Thirty years ago.

"Thirty years?" Hank sat by his desk, scrolling through the data on his holo screen. "Thirty *years*… And all it says is 'issues have occurred'?"

Connor shifted from foot to foot. "To be specific, it says 'unknown error'. It also lists minor recurring damage to the hull."

"We need to get to the rA sections, see what's going on." He stood up, itching to do something other than sit around at his desk. Chl0e took a step back, sensing his restlessness. Connor, on the other hand, looked like he couldn't decide whether to raise his hand or not.

"Out with it. There's no time for formalities."

Connor opened his mouth to speak, closed it - and even that was a thing of engineering genius. You could almost taste his sudden boost of confidence.

"I found a series of encrypted log entries dating back prior to the 'issues'."

There was a shoe waiting to drop somewhere, Hank was sure of it - but when nothing more came forth, he arched his eyebrows in a Very Pointed fashion. It did the trick, prompting his new partner to speak. "Requesting permission to bypass the encryption, sir."

"Granted. Go nuts."

It very clearly wasn't the response Connor had anticipated, which made Hank wonder about his supposed 'fortune teller' brain. Connor blinked at him, which in turn prompted Hank to get talking.

"Not 'go crazy' in the literal sense. But go ahead, hack the shit out of those logs."

"Oh," said Connor, those almost too shapely lips forming the word. "Got it!"

Hank nodded. Time to go investigate on-site.

***

In Connor's opinion, which was neither humble nor something he wished to divulge, Lieutenant Anderson was an oddity. Having made a name for himself in law enforcement working for the DPD, he was a highly suitable candidate for CoS. On paper, everything looked just so.

But digging deeper into his psych evals and performance reports, a different picture began to emerge: following the tragic loss of his son, Anderson had spiralled into depression as well as alcoholism. Sick leave for reasons of mental healthcare mingled with assault charges.

His friends and co-workers thought very highly of him, but his superiors deemed him a handful. On the one hand, mental health issues and self destructive tendencies. On the other, recovery. Everything Connor had on file regarding the human psyche told him it wasn't that easy.

However, Lieutenant Anderson's past transgressions and victories were of little consequence to him. What bothered him was that the ERA Project had a very rigorous selection process, meant to bring in only the best of the best, from all parts of society. How anyone could have thought selecting a human with a volatile temper and fuse short enough to lead to brawls for  _ Chief of Security _ ... Thousands upon thousands of human lives depended on the wherewithal of this man. The entire future of the U.S.S Halcyon lay in the palm of his hand.

He made a resolution right then and there, in the fraction of a second so tiny that the human mind could scarcely comprehend - that should Lieutenant Anderson show the slightest hint of being unfit for duty, Connor would throw him in the brig and figure this out, himself.

As they talked over the data, however, Connor soon decided to give the human the benefit of the doubt. He was obviously sharp (for a human), with bright, intelligent eyes to match. Another thing in his favor was, he didn't hesitate. He weighed his options, and acted accordingly. Quite outside the realm of his own programming, Connor found himself being the hesitant one.

They were in Requisitions, Anderson strapping into the appropriate safety suit for entering the rA sections, starting with 1. He was quiet, collected, tucking his big belly into the suit.

"Are you sure you wouldn't prefer me to scout ahead, Lieutenant?"

All he got in response was a shrug as the human clipped his shoulder length hair out of the way.

Connor tried again. "I'm completely autonomous, impervious to disease. I don't require oxygen," he insisted. "I was designed for this...

"I am physically superior to you in every conceivable way…"

Lieutenant Anderson grinned; it didn't make sense. Neither did his verbal response. He sounded almost...teasing. "Of course you are, Connor. I've studied your specs, I know."

"In that case, I don't see why we're here. With all due respect, if I get damaged, you can requisition a new RK800, but there's only one of you."

That sparked a reaction - also not what he'd expected. Anderson turned those eyes on him, the grin all but melted off his face.  Gone was the teasing air of camaraderie, replaced by grim tones and carefully weighed words. "How about we aim just a bit higher than Toss-ya-in-the-trash-and-get-a-new-one, hm? You take every precaution to stay in one piece, no matter what, and I'll do the same. Deal?"

Connor blinked, puzzled. It was the first time anyone had expected him to prioritize his own safety. It conflicted with his mission parameters, but the Chief of Security didn't need to know. He nodded. "I'm experiencing some difficulty accessing the files. I might require an update."

Anderson said nothing of his sudden change of topic. "Will it take long?"

"Not at all."

"And you're up and running in the meantime?"

"Affirmative."

"Do it." Anderson paused, as if ready to say more, but not sure how. "And then you scout ahead to rA-1, but don't go in. Stay."

***

The ship itself was in every sense of the word, a state of the art piece of technology, engineering, design: all of it. No expenses spared, no detail too minuscule, everything was designed to make the transition from living planetside to living in space as smooth and painless as possible. Acoustics, lighting, the quality of the air, the gravity field, the user interface - everything imaginable. Sleek, curved walls were lit up by a warm, comforting glow custom made to suit the human eye. Even when one walked purposely down a corridor, one barely made a sound.

It wasn't completely beyond the realm of reason, from Connor's point of view, that even a brief voyage awake on the Halcyon should be as 'smooth sailing' as possible to soothe the anxieties of the crew and passengers. He just wasn't entirely sure it was strictly necessary.

Then again, he wasn't a human, which possibly precluded him from having an opinion on the matter - but he didn't actually care if it did. In any case: ensuring a cushy ride through space paled in comparison to the significance of actually surviving said ride.

The closer the came to Research and Acquisition, the more confident he was that if he could just get a proper reading on whatever had pierced the hull, they'd be back on their way in no time. It's how he was designed: analyze the situation, remedy said situation. Mission success.

In fact ( **update: downloaded. install y/n?**

**Y**

**installing: 90%** ) once he stood outside section one, he couldn't think of one rational reason not to go ahead inside. Anderson's mission depended on his complying with objectives.

Scout ahead.

Stay. ( **Installation: 100%. rebooting** )

What happened next would come to haunt him for years. He closed his eyes for the duration of the reboot, something which normally took a matter of seconds. A reboot passed by so unnoticeably that most humans didn't even know. It barely even registered in an android's own logs.

When he opened his eyes again, it was not outside the sleek blue door leading to RA-1, but a garden. Not Hydroponics, but… a *garden*, complete with a lake, and trees, and grass… He'd never walked on grass.

And then, a woman's voice suddenly filled the air. "Hello, Connor."

The strangest thing happened - not strange in a general sense, but as pertained to Connor's collected memories: a chill went up his spine. He could detect no shift in ambient temperature. Neither could he detect any threat to himself or otherwise, and yet, that was it. Fear.

He'd never experienced fear before. He didn't even know it was part of his programming. He understood self-preservation, yes, but this was something else. This was completely irrational.

"Don't be shy," said the woman, tending to a wall of flowers further in. "Come closer."

At least, whatever that was, speaking to him, it bore all the physical characteristics of a human female - but could he be absolutely certain? Surely this must be a glitch of some sort. Something wrong with the update.

Connor moved closer for one reason only - analyze/evaluate/remedy.

***

In a different part of the ship, Hank was having an uncharacteristic bout of indecision. On the one hand, he'd really prefer not to be entirely defenseless against an unknown entity seeming to eat its way into the ship. On the other hand, who knew  _ what  _ they're dealing with?

Hank sure as fuck didn't. Chl0e didn't. Connor was one big, walking, talking question mark - 'oh I cannot give any definitive answers at this point in time' and 'no, sir, I do not have confirmation on that'...

"Hank?" Chl0e piped up. Hank was glad for it. Pleased, even.

"Yeah?"

Being symbiotically linked to an artificial intelligence had its ups and downs, from Hank's perspective. Sometimes it was difficult to tell where Chl0e's perceptions began and his own ended. Things were easily jumbled, even though they'd passed all the tests with flying colors.  It was a prerequisite for being selected - either you successfully bond with her, or you don't. You don't, you're out. It's just, sometimes he felt like a grandpa going through a midlife crisis while living vicariously through his granddaughter.

"Come on, kid, I'm waiting. Penny for your thoughts?"

She startled into a giggle that seemed to break her bubble of hesitation or insecurity. Whatever it was it did the trick. She loved old-worldly stuff like that. "Are you...mad that I can't tell what that thing is, out there?"

The question caught him by surprise. "Mad? At you?" He blinked. "No! There's nothing wrong with you, or your sensors, or your analytical software. Don't you let anyone tell you otherwise. Are we clear?"

She smiled, which to Hank felt like a memory: intangible but real. "Clear."

"Clear as crystal?" Hank teased through a grin. It was a game of theirs, to play with words.

"Clear as day," said Chl0e.

"As day?"

"On a clear day, I can see myself for miles," she sing-songed, referencing one of Hank's favorite songs from childhood.

"Yeah, yeah. Back to work, Boy George."

En route to RA-1, Hank tapped his temple, bringing up his interface. Connor was already in the right section (as expected). "Wonder why he hasn't checked in. What's it been? Ten minutes?"

"Fifteen."

"Huh." He opened a direct link to the RK unit. "Connor? What's your status?"

There was no response. Not a single blip on the metaphorical radar. Connor just seemed to...stand there. "Connor? Please respond. This is Lieutenant Anderson - what is your status? Can you hear me?"

Still nothing. Hank picked up the pace. Something was clearly wrong.

***

The garden was quiet, and terribly verdant. Everything was in bloom. Flowers and grasses and trees from all over the old Earth thrived side by side as if they belonged together. And in their midst, a woman with a kind yet authoritative voice, beckoning him closer.

"Query."

"Yes?" she said, and turned around to face him. She had an almost regal posture, and absolutely everything about her, down to the finest detail, was perfect. Or, that is. Perfectly rendered. Connor could see it now. She was an AI, like the Halcyon's own Chl0e.

"Where is this?"

"That's an unusual question, Connor," said the AI with the kind of smile Connor associated with parenthood. He'd seen that smile on his creator's face many times, as well as the technicians who fine tuned his configuration.

"Allow me to rephrase. *When* is this? What are you?"

"This is my domain; this is forever; I am the Advanced Mandate of Authority," said the woman, as if speaking to a small child, and clasped her hands in front of her. There was something...comforting, about her smile.

"But you can call me Amanda."

***

Hank ran through the long corridors, propelled forward along the conveyor belt section designed for expedience and ease of logistics away from the centralized communal areas. It was all well and good to stroll through what would be an artificially made park, but once you got past the recreational and housing facilities and out into the crew areas, you couldn't dawdle getting from point A to point B. Or R.

"Any luck?" Hank breathed, leaning into one of the steeper turns. 

"Still no answer." Chl0e sounded worried - or perhaps he was projecting.

"No visuals?" 

"No... There's a blind spot right by the door. We'll have to fix that." 

Surveillance… Of all the things you could get wrong in a high security part of the ship... Hank grumbled. "Keep trying." 

"I  _ am _ ."

***

"Amanda." Connor tried the name out, weighing her statements quietly. "My mentor? Why wasn't I informed of this?"

He was designed to be inquisitive about all things to do with life (all forms), and his mission. And to be innately critical of anything presented as 'fact'.

Facts were to be verified before taken as such, and this could not be verified. Amanda, however, simply inclined her head, and looked at him expectantly. 

"Are you sure there's no mention of me in your files?" 

Connor frowned, and executed another reference search only to find...

| News and bug fixes in the system update … … … - Amanda; Advanced Mandate of Authority: the RK800's exclusive link to CyberLife HQ. Available for all manner of guidance and direction. VR interface only. | 

"But--" That wasn't there before. Why did CyberLife suddenly think he--

"I've been waiting for you to wake up. We have so much work to do." 

\--why did they think he needed a mentor? Or...a supervisor? 'Advanced Mandate of Authority' echoed through his mind palace. Would she lend him that mandate, or would she use it against him, he wondered.

***

In the physical realm, Hank rounded yet another corner that wasn’t a corner but a long, curved corridor, and spread out before him was a long stretch of space, at the end of which was his second-in-command. It was exactly like Chl0e told him, the android simply stood there, staring into space. Immobile. Immoveable. Hank slowed his pace to a brisk walk, bringing up his scanning interface on his visual grid. While there was no indication of foul play, there was something inherently creepy about a humanoid that looked very much like a human suddenly cease to display any signs of animation.

He was like a mannequin of centuries ago, stood in a window display, pretty to look at but...flat. Two-dimensional. Inanimate, staring at absolutely nothing, unseeing. Connor’s eyes were powered down, dark brown and matted out. All the things that made Hank think they were the most beautiful set of eyes he’d ever seen was mysteriously gone in the wake of whatever was going on.

“Connor?” No response. Hank sneered, and took Connor by the upper arms, shaking him carefully. Maybe he could be jostled back in working order, like a coffee machine/computer terminal/snack dispensary - it was an exercise in futility, and ever so slightly demeaning towards the super computer android who was clearly more than a neglected machine in the corner of the canteen.

“Connor! Goddammit, why didn’t they fuckin’ give you a title so I can bark that atcha? CONNOR! ARE-KAY EIGHT-HUNDRED-NUMBER-ONE!”

No response. Hank sighed, and cut his eyes to the right, towards his implant. “Chl0e? Any ideas?”

“Well…”

“Confidence, kid. Out with it.”

“If you touch his diode, perhaps I can connect to him and run a systems scan.”

Hank blinked, confuddled to say the least. “Say that again? Touch his what-now?”

"Yes," said Chl0e, patient as ever. "Just like you do your own. A light pressure should do it."

A light pressure, said Chl0e, as if there was nothing strange at all about letting your symbiotic AI get all cozy with your glitching, android officer. He supposed there was nothing strange about it - he just felt unsure of the whole thing. Connect to what was essentially an AI encased in a hi-tech shell, and...dig through his code? He wasn’t too excited about the idea of someone rummaging around in his brain: there was something inherently invasive about the prospect, but he had to trust Chl0e knew what she was talking about. AI, computer code, that whole can of worms wasn’t  _ his _ field of expertise, but hers.

Chest rising with a deep breath, Hank lifted his left hand to Connor’s right temple, and tried to look past the glassy look in his eyes. It felt invasive in a whole other capacity as well - how many times hadn’t he brought his hand to someone’s face, to cup their cheek or trace their angles with his fingers? It felt like a travesty of affection, like some higher being somewhere was playing its own private joke on him. He’d joined this goddamn expedition to get away from anything resembling interpersonal attachment. He just wanted to live his lifelong dream, get to see space, a new world; and work, and live alone, in peace and quiet - as much as his new life would allow.

He clenched his teeth together behind closed lips, and pressed two fingers to the slowly rolling circle of light. “Here goes…”

“Please stand by,” said Chl0e, leaving Hank behind to do some investigating of her own. Hank felt a strange tingling at the back of his mind, but other than that, the human body wasn’t capable of getting the full picture of what she was doing.

***

In the virtual garden of Connor’s mind, Amanda turned her eyes to the skies, such as they were. There was the faintest sounds of rumbling, coming from somewhere very far away. Then, she leveled him with a grim look in her eyes. The gravity of the moment wasn't lost on him.

The lines of her face seemed more angular all of a sudden. Something was happening - something bad. He could feel it, worming its way through his coding. “Go, Connor. You know what you have to do. You mustn't let anything get in your way.”


End file.
